


Sex Sent Me to the ER

by hellahotchner



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Asthma, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hospitals, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25398919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellahotchner/pseuds/hellahotchner
Summary: A mishap in the bedroom leads to an ER trip.  But hey, here’s the bright side: how many people can say that sex sent them to the ER?
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 139





	Sex Sent Me to the ER

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies if any of this is inaccurate, but I did a lot of research and drew from my own personal experience with asthma! :)

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you whine, kneeling in the middle of the bed, spreading your knees wide in the hopes you’ll entice Spencer to join you on the bed. 

Spencer’s been away for two and a half weeks, in Louisiana. Apparently, some guy didn’t take too well to girls flashing themselves for beads at Mardi Gras, and was kidnapping women from right under their friends’ noses. Four bodies surfaced before they found the guy—who was still holding six other girls captive—and arrested him. Spencer had gotten home late last night, and this is the first time you’ve seen him since, because he’d had to work today. Fill out all the case paperwork. 

He’d texted you earlier expressing how much he’d missed you, and when you’d sent him a suggestive text, he’d immediately latched onto the idea. Thus, you invited him over, and you’d put on your  [ best ](https://www.etsy.com/listing/606439128/sexy-lingerie-see-through-camomile-mood) lingerie in preparation. 

“You look so beautiful,” he breathes, his eyes scanning over your body, over the sheer white lingerie that leaves  _ nothing _ to the imagination. You knew he’d like it. “Are those daisies?”

You shake your head, running your fingers over the ruffled panties. “Chamomile, baby,” you murmur. “Do I look pretty?”

“So pretty, sweetheart.”

“Then come take it off of me.”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate this time, crawling onto the bed and pushing you back onto the mattress. You giggle excitedly as he runs his hands over the sheer fabric of the bra, and then as he hooks his fingers in the ribbons around your chest. 

As you set to work on unbuttoning his shirt, he reaches behind you and pops the hooks on your bra. He doesn’t take it off immediately, instead leaning down to press open-mouth kisses along the side of your neck and down your sternum, settling over your nipple through the sheer fabric. 

You moan softly as you pop the last button, pushing his shirt over his shoulders. He pulls away from you to shrug his shirt off, before leaning back down and finally taking your bra off and putting it on the floor with his discarded shirt. 

He trails his kisses down your chest to your bellybutton, barely poking out from the high-waisted panties. He traces the waistband with his tongue and then makes his way back up to your lips, giving you a quick and dirty kiss. 

“I almost don’t want to take them off,” he murmurs, one hand falling to your hip and touching the fabric gently. “You look so good like this, baby. I’ve missed you so much.”

You laugh softly, cupping his cheeks between your palms. “They’ll look even better on my floor, I promise,” you whisper, and he whimpers pathetically, reaching down to take the panties completely off. You make a mental note to wear those more often. 

He settles on his stomach between your legs, hooking his arms around your thighs and settling his hands on your hips. There’s no preamble to him going down on you. He just dives right in, licking a stripe up your slit to your clit and then closing his mouth around your clit to suckle it. 

Spencer’s  _ really _ good at giving head. You moan so loudly and so frequently that you’re genuinely concerned about losing your voice, sometimes. And this time is no different. You cry out helplessly, arching your back and knotting one hand into his hair so he doesn’t stop. 

It doesn’t take long for you to come, unraveling on his tongue as your thighs tremble around his head. He licks you through it and then pops up with a huge, pleased smile on his face. 

“You’re so good at that,” you pant out, trying to catch your breath. That was the downside of being so loud during sex—it was really easy for you to lose your breath, and sometimes it was really hard to get it normal again. 

Spencer kisses your forehead and then pauses, looking down at you curiously. “Are you okay? Do you need to take a break for a minute?” He asks, and you try really hard not to let yourself get annoyed. You know he’s only asking because he’s a total sweetheart who doesn’t want to cause you to have an asthma attack, but you hate having to be so careful all the time. You can’t even count how many times your asthma has killed the mood. 

“No, I’m okay,” you insist, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. He goes easily, pressing his tongue into your mouth. You can taste yourself on him, and it makes you buck your hips up into his. When you realize you’re feeling his slacks, you pull back again and breathe out, “You’re still wearing too many clothes.”

Spencer nods and leans back to unbutton his pants, and he takes his underwear off with them. He drops them on the other side of the bed and settles on top of you again, one arm braced next to your head and the other reaching between your bodies to line himself up. 

Your breath hitches when he rubs the tip against your folds, but he doesn’t push in. Instead, he just stares at you, that annoying concern still lingering in his eyes. “You’re wheezing, baby,” he whispers, and you shake your head even though you know that you are. Your chest is starting to feel a bit tight, too, but you brush it off. Exercise induced asthma is annoying, but you’ve learned how to deal with it. You’re fine. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a break?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist and trying to pull him in. “Come on, fuck me. Please.”

“Maybe you should—”

You don’t let him finish, instead mustering up all your strength to flip the two of you over. Spencer groans when his back hits the mattress, but you don’t give him a chance to ask questions before you’re grabbing his dick and lining yourself up. 

When you slide down and settle into the cradle of his hips, your head spins a little. Your chest is tighter than before, you’re breathing  _ really  _ quickly (and still wheezing), and you’re starting to feel a bit more sweaty than before. But then Spencer’s hands hit your hips and you shake your head, trying to snap out of it—panicking will only make it worse—and start to swivel your hips. 

Spencer moans at your movements and you take it as encouragement, placing your hands flat on his chest and bouncing up and down eagerly. Spencer uses his grip on your hips to help guide your movement, and you think that he’s praising you, but you can’t really hear over your breathing and the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. 

Suddenly, you start to cough, and then after you cough you find that you can’t breathe in again. It’s like somebody is sitting on your chest and you’re trying to suck in breaths through a crushed up straw. You stop immediately, and Spencer sits up quickly, touching your face and asking once again if you’re okay. 

You look up at him, trying to get the words out, but you can’t. You just grab at your throat and try your hardest to suck in breaths, and Spencer’s eyes widen in pure fear. He moves you off of him quickly and then darts to your nightstand, pulling your emergency inhaler out of your drawer. He shakes it up and then hands it to you. 

You grab the inhaler and take a puff, hold it, and then breathing out. You take multiple puffs of your inhaler but it doesn’t help, you still find yourself wheezing and gasping, and your chest doesn’t loosen in the slightest. 

Desperately, you turn to Spencer, tears starting to spill down your cheeks. There’s no feeling like the feeling of not being able to breathe. You feel like you’re  _ drowning.  _

“Your lips are turning blue,” he notices, and your panic only increases. You lean over and start trying even harder to breathe, the ugly sounds of your gasping and wheezing filling the room. “In cases of severe asthma, 911 should be contacted if you have blue lips, and if your rescue inhaler doesn’t work. I need to call 911. Where’s my phone?!” 

He runs around the room looking for his discarded pants, while you focus on trying to breathe. You can feel yourself getting sweatier, hotter, even more panicked. You feel like you’re dying. 

“This is Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid,” you hear Spencer saying, and if you weren’t  _ dying,  _ you’d laugh. Of course Spencer would drop his title to try and get the ambulance here faster. “My girlfriend is asthmatic and she’s having an asthma attack. Her lips are turning blue, and her rescue inhaler isn’t helping.”

The ambulance arrives quickly, and Spencer doesn’t leave your side as they load you into the ambulance. They hook the mask over your face and start a nebulizer with albuterol, and you breathe in the medicine, still crying and praying that something will give you relief. 

By the time you arrive at the hospital and get set up behind the curtains, your breathing is easier. You’re sitting up in your bed, hooked up to an oxygen mask now that the bronchodilator has helped, with Spencer holding your hand on one side and a nurse next to you monitoring your breathing on the other side. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Spencer murmurs, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. When you look at him, you notice that his shirt buttons aren’t done up correctly, and you smile a little bit. “I knew we should’ve…” He blushes, realizing the nurse was still there, but you knew what he meant. He knew you should’ve taken a break. 

“Not your fault,” you croak out, squeezing his hand reassuringly. It really  _ wasn’t  _ his fault. He recognized that something was wrong, you’re the one that was stupid and insisted that you keep going. This could’ve been an easy fix: a little break with your inhaler, and you would’ve been fine. But now, here you are, getting oxygen in the ER. You ruined the whole night. 

Spencer squeezes your hand back, a frown on his face. “I can practically hear you blaming yourself and getting upset,” he teases, and you just give him a sad, sorry smile. “It’s okay, my love. Actually, studies show that women’s pain and medical issues aren’t taken as seriously by doctors, and in many cases they don’t get necessary treatment for years. It isn’t surprising that, in reaction, many women tend to doubt or underestimate their own symptoms.” He turns his attention to the nurse, who is starting to unhook some machines from your arm. “I’m not telling you how to do your job, ma’am, but I would keep her here for observation for a few hours.”

The nurse gives him a look. “When you introduced yourself as a doctor, I wasn’t aware you meant a medical doctor.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” he grins, and you stifle a laugh behind the oxygen mask. The nurse leaves quickly, and Spencer turns his attention back to you. “How are you feeling, baby?”

“A lot better,” you promise him, tugging on his hand until he climbs into the hospital bed with you. You tuck yourself into his chest, and he holds you as close as he can without disturbing the oxygen mask. “I’m sorry that I ruined the night. I was really looking forward to it, since it’s been so long.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, sweetheart. This stuff just happens sometimes. According to the CDC, 25 million Americans have asthma, and 11.4 million asthmatics report having one or more asthma attacks per year. Actually, asthma is the third ranking cause of hospitalization in young children, and is responsible for 1.8 million ER visits per year.”

You hum quietly, leaning your head back against his shoulder and closing your eyes. As it turns out, almost choking to death (okay, maybe that’s a  _ bit  _ dramatic, but you did feel like you were dying) takes a hell of a lot out of you. “How many people die per year?”

“In general? 863.8 deaths per 100,000 population. From asthma? More than 4,000 people die as a direct result, but nearly 7,000 other deaths list asthma as a contributing factor. Weirdly enough, women are more likely to die than men, but boys are more likely to die than girls.”

“And how many people have orgasm-induced asthma?”

Spencer stiffens a little, making you giggle softly. The laughing makes you cough, though, which makes Spencer hold you even closer. “Stop trying to be funny, you’re hurting yourself,” he teases, but he can’t mask the concern in his voice very well. You frown when you hear it. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You scared the hell out of me,” Spencer admits, and you know he’s serious because he’s using swear words. “But it’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Neither can you,” you retort. “Your job is a lot more dangerous than my asthma. Really, it’s only fair that you got scared this time. Usually, it’s me having to visit  _ you  _ in the hospital.”

Spencer sighs a little. “Actually, an average of 64 law enforcement officers die per year. There’s about 800,000 officers in the US, which would be a death rate of 0.00008. Asthma has a death rate of 0.00016. That means asthma is, statistically, twice as dangerous.”

You roll your eyes, and then tuck yourself tighter into Spencer’s chest. “Well, either way, looks like we’re even.”

“That means you can’t do this to me again.”

“Then you can’t get shot again.”

Spencer just laughs a little bit, making you smile so wide that it hurts. You want to laugh with him, but you know that laughing will only make you cough, and you don’t want the nurse to come back. You just want to cuddle with your boyfriend for a little bit, recover from the panic and pain and all other side effects of feeling like you’re going to lose your breath forever. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, and you tilt your head up to look at him. He looks a bit confused when you pull the oxygen mask down and off of your face, but smiles when he sees you pucker your lips. He grants your wish, kissing you gently four times before forcing you to put the mask on. 

“I love you, too. And hey, a bright side: how many people get to say that sex sent them to the ER?”

“Actually, about 0.2% of 2.3 million reported injuries are sex related, though the number is probably much higher because sex injuries hardly ever get reported. The most common injury is foreign objects that get stuck inside of people, though.”

“What about penile fractures?”

Spencer visibly winces, and this time you can’t hold back a soft giggle. “I don’t even want to think about that,” he teases, cuddling in closer and pressing a kiss to your head. “You know, the real bright side to this is that we get to have a do-over. Which means I get to see you in that beautiful chamomile lingerie all over again.”

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “You’re right, that is a bright side. But are you sure you want me to wear the chamomile set again? Because I have three other new sets that you have yet to see.” Spencer’s eyes bulge out of his head and his cheeks instantly flush a pretty pink, making you giggle even harder, which of course sets off a new round of coughs and wheezing. 

The nurse comes back to check on you, and Spencer dotes on you again, holding your hand and rubbing your back—but the blush never leaves his face. 

**Author's Note:**

> Spencer’s law enforcement statistic doesn’t rly include the FBI but I couldn’t find a statistic on how many FBI agents die per year (just that there’s been 55 deaths total) so I did the best with what I had lol! Pls be kind, I love feedback!


End file.
